The Definiton of Being Fine
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: "Are you okay?" she asks, concern filling her voice, as she squeezes his hand. Honestly, he's not okay. He's a mess. But he's not going to have an emotional breakdown over some rectangular pieces of paper, for God's sake. Tag to S10E06 'Shell Schock',one-shot


**Well hello people! Yes, it is me. I did not die. I did not forget everything about you. I did not abandon writing.**

**I did, however, lose my muse on both of my ongoing projects, which frustrates me to no end. I feel terrible! **  
**I only had time to write this baby here because I'm sitting at home with a cold, watching nothing but crappy TV. **

**Anyway, this one had to be written after I watched the scene where Tony and Ziva look at the pictures of him and his mom in _"Shell Shock" - Pt. 1._**  
** I mean I don't know about you, but for _me_ this was definitely one of the most touching Tiva moments ever. I was, like, crying and smiling and _gosh_ it was so perfect! So I couldn't just _not_ write something after that episode, even though I usually don't write Tags.**

**Disclaimer: _If only..._**

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**The Definition of Being Fine**

He's not surprised when she enters his living room with a six-pack of his favorite beer and a pizza box. It's been ages since the last time this happened, but he knew the moment he showed her the pictures that she wouldn't just drop the subject- he wouldn't either if it was the other way around.

She seems to sense his uneasiness and just gives him one of her private smiles, the one that makes it almost impossible for him not to reach out and pull her close to him. He finds himself smiling back almost shyly as she hands him a slice of pizza and an unopened bottle of beer. Taking a small bite of the greasy food he turns his attention back to the TV, desperately trying to escape the conversation she obviously wants to have, and pretends that he's watching the most amazing show ever created (Which, for the record, had been and always will be Magnum PI).  
Her disapproving snort cuts through the silence between them.

"_Jersey Shore?_ Really? Come on Tony, you ought to have better taste than that, no?"

He smiles inwardly, because she recognized the show, which means she's probably seen it herself at least once and it's just something he couldn't picture her doing.  
"It makes me feel smarter when I watch it," he says with a shrug.

"Well, it does not make you _look_ very smart."

_Touché_.

He chuckles and switches the channel to ZNN before he gets up to fetch a bottle opener from the kitchen. When he returns after a couple of minutes, much more time than he actually needed, considering the bottle opener was just lying on the shelf next to the door connecting his kitchen and living room, he finds her sitting on his couch with her legs folded underneath her and the pictures of him and his mom in her hands. For a second he has the urge to rip them from her hands and demanding of her to wash them first, but he knows it's ridiculous and so he just takes his seat next to her again. As soon as he's seated she moves her legs to rest on his thighs and he immediately relaxes at the contact.

"You know, I would have liked to meet your mother, Tony"

He doesn't really know how to respond to that statement, so he just nods his head in acknowledgement and takes a sip of his beer. It's obviously not what she wanted to get as an answer, and he knows it, the only problem is, he doesn't think he can talk about the delicate subject of his mother yet. Not even with Ziva.  
She nudges his thigh with her right foot to get him to look at her and when he does the full force of her patented Please-Talk-To-Me stare hits him and he can't bring himself to look away. She tilts her head slightly to the side. He sighs in defeat, knowing he doesn't stand a chance against this woman.

"She was very outgoing," he starts and already feels a lump forming in his throat. Ziva knows him well enough to understand how difficult it is for him to open up to her like this and she moves a little closer to him. Her close proximity alone and the fact that he can now faintly smell her shampoo makes his heart do funny things, but at the same time it calms him immensely and so he decides to continue. He tells Ziva everything he remembers. About his mom cooking the worst Thanksgiving dinner ever and his dad ending up ordering a pizza in the middle of the night, about how he always wanted a puppy but his mom was more of a cat person so they ended up buying a kitten which he then named 'Rover'. He is a bit surprised when Ziva takes his hand and threads her fingers through his, because they usually avoid this kind of intimacy, although their bond is stronger than ever after the explosion. There are flirtatious smiles coming from her and suggestive glances coming from him, just like in the good old days when their friendship was actually easy. Well, at least easier than after everything that happened since then.

"What happened to Rover?" Ziva asks with a smile. He shrugs.

"Dunno. When I came back from boarding school the cat was gone and my dad didn't tell me what happened. I think he sold him, but we never really talked about it."

"Oh. I am sorry."

"No, I actually get it. It was something that reminded him too much of her, I guess."

Ziva nods slowly and searches his eyes for something, but doesn't seem to find what she's looking for. One of her curls seems to develop a life of its own and falls into her face. He brushes it back for her, maybe taking a little too much time brushing her cheek with his thumb.  
"She would've liked you," he says softly.

She actually reacts surprised and raises her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Of course. You're intelligent, you're funny, you're gorgeous and you'd totally kick my ass if I misbehaved. You're… " he doesn't finish what he was about to say, because he cannot go anywhere _near_ the subject of his feelings for her tonight. Everything is just so messed up with the case and the photos and dammit, if he concentrates he can feel her breath fanning against his face and it drives him crazy.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern filling her voice, as she squeezes his hand. Honestly, he's not okay. He's a mess. But he's not going to have an emotional breakdown over some rectangular pieces of paper, for God's sake.

"I'm fine," he lies, but his voice sounds choked and so he sounds everything but convincing. It also takes him a moment before he realizes the irony of his statement, because over the years "_I am fine_" had become some sort of catchphrase for his partner and every single time those three words left her lips in the past he knew that _nothing_ was fine. '_I am fine'_ actually meant '_I feel terrible but I don't want to talk to you and you'll have to deal with that_'

"I do not believe you," she says softly, obviously not noticing that they basically just switched roles.

"That's too bad, because I'm done sharing." He regrets the harshness of his voice when hurt crosses her features but he's too stubborn to apologize now, the anger mixing with his sadness and confusion. It's like poison.

"Okay, don't talk, then."

"_Okay_."

They glare at each other for a couple of seconds before Ziva sighs and gets up to gather their mostly untouched meal, his empty beer bottle and her full one and carry all items into the kitchen. The moment she's out of sight he drops his head in his hands and tries hard to hold back tears, something he hasn't had to do since Jenny's death. He doesn't know how long she's gone but when she re-enters the room something seems different. She sniffs softly and he guesses that she's been crying as well, only he doesn't quite get why.

"You are hurting, Tony," she states. "You might not want to admit it, but you are. I can see that. And it… it just _kills_ me to see you like this. So please don't tell me that you are '_fine'_," she spits the word at him as if it might leave a sour taste in her mouth if she took too long to say it. She's sitting next to him again now, her cheeks slightly flushed and her eyes glassy and framed by smudged mascara. And suddenly he's the one comforting her, pulling her into a tight hug and rubbing her back. He feels a few more tears drop onto his shirt and every drop is like a tiny stab of a knife, because he is the reason for her being that miserable.

"I'm sorry, Ziva," he whispers. She pulls back and looks at him.

"For what?"

"For pulling you into this thing with me. I shouldn't have told you about the pictures." He isn't prepared for her fist connecting with his shoulder. It's not a hard punch, but it doesn't feel like the paws of a kitten either.

"You're an idiot, DiNozzo," Ziva murmurs but her voice gains volume with every word leaving her lips. "Every single day you seem to speak out every thought of yours, however unimportant. But when it comes to the things that _are_ important, you suddenly keep your mouth shut. And do not get me wrong; you would not be the Tony that I… that _we_ love if you were any different. But I know what it feels like to keep every negative thought to yourself and I am asking you not to become like me."

His mouth is suddenly dry. Did Ziva just say that she loved him? Sure, she said '_The Tony that _we_ love'_ but she'd hesitated for the fraction of a second before correcting herself. His heart hammers in his chest with the speed of a hummingbird's wing.  
"Ziva, I… this is hard," his voice breaks and he hates himself for not being stronger. She almost crawls into his lap, moving as close as she can, and puts her arms around his neck.

"I will not think any less of you if you cry, Tony. She was your mother and you obviously loved her a lot."

There is nothing sexual about the kiss she presses to his cheek and it does what it's supposed to do: give him confidence and support. A single tear escapes his eye, but he doesn't know if it's because he's mourning his mother's death for the first time in over twenty years or because he's touched by his partner's comforting gesture. Probably both.  
"I'm not fine, Zi," he whispers hoarsely, "Not fine at all."

He feels her placing another kiss on his cheek. "I know. But I will be here for you until you are."

Another tear rolls down his face. "That might take a while."

"I have time."  
She moves in his arms so she can look at him, her dark eyes connecting with his and if it was any other day he would probably kiss her, but it isn't any other day and so he merely touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes. He doesn't know how much time passes, it could be minutes or an hour, but Ziva's breathing evens out as her head drops to rest on his shoulder.

"Let's get you to bed," he whispers, feeling rather exhausted himself and remembering that Gibbs wants them at the office on time. He helps her stand and she pads into his bedroom, heading straight for the wardrobe. A warm feeling settles in his stomach at the mere fact that she knows exactly where he keeps her favorite OSU shirt and a pair of her yoga pants. He doesn't follow her straight away, giving her some privacy to change, and uses his spare time to turn off the TV and put on a pair of sweatpants himself. Once he's finished he carefully gathers the photos on his coffee table together and takes them with him into his bedroom.

His partner is lying on the right side of the bed with her eyes open, waiting for him. He hesitates for a moment before joining her, leaving a lot of space between them. Ziva sighs, reaching out for his hand and pulling him close enough to wrap his arm around her so his hand is resting on her belly. At first his body is stiff but when she turns the bedside lamp off and a cocoon of darkness forms around them, he relaxes.

"Tony?" Ziva's sleepy voice startles him a bit.

"M'Yea?"

"She would have been proud of you. Your mother, I mean."  
Instead of saying something, he kisses the top of her head before burying his nose in her wild curls. With her help he is sure that he will be fine again. Not the fake kind of fine, but a new happy kind.

That in mind it's easy for him to drift off to sleep and he already feels better, knowing that Ziva will be there with him in the morning and probably the morning after that as well.

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